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“I have my reasons,” Rowan’s voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. “Reasons which prevent me from…”

His voice trailed off.

“From what?” she challenged.

He closed the remaining distance between them in one stride, his hand coming up to cradle her face, “From enjoying my wife.”

For a heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her. Her pulse quickened, body responding traitorously to his nearness.

A sharp knock interrupted the charged moment.

“Your Grace?” Mrs. Wilson’s voice came through the door. “Will you be joining the guests for dessert?”

Rowan stepped back, the spell broken. Selina took a steadying breath.

“Yes, Mrs. Wilson. We’ll be right there.”

When the housekeeper’s footsteps receded, Selina straightened her shoulders.

Rowan looked at her, the fire in his expression now tempered by something quieter—something closer to regret.

His voice, when it came, was low. “If you’ll allow it… I’ll join you.”

Selina blinked, caught off guard.

“Dessert,” he added, as if clarifying the obvious. But his eyes never left hers. “I should meet the guests properly.”

It wasn’t an apology. Not quite. But it wasn’t nothing.

She nodded once, slowly. “Of course.”

He offered his arm. Stiffly at first, as though he’d forgotten how. She hesitated a heartbeat—then placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.

Together, they walked back to the dining room. The guests looked up in surprise.

Conversation faltered mid-sentence. Forks stilled above plates. Even Lord Penderwick froze with a bite of tart halfway to his mouth.

Selina kept her posture composed, her hand light on Rowan’s arm.

She stepped forward, her voice steady as she gestured around the table. “May I present the Duke and Duchess of Emberford—Robert and Georgiana, who are dear friends of mine.”

Rowan inclined his head. “Duke. Duchess.”

“Aldermere,” Robert nodded.

Georgiana smiled with gentle curiosity. “We were just praising your household’s hospitality, Duke. You have a beautiful home, sir.”

“Thank you, Duchess,” he said. “The credit belongs to my wife. She’s made it more pleasing.”

Selina moved on. “And you’ll remember Viscount Penderwick.”

“I do,” Rowan said, his tone cooling a degree. “Penderwick.”

“Your Grace,” the viscount replied with a too-bright smile, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “A pleasure.”

Selina ignored the tension. “And finally, the Earl and Countess of Bingham—David and Isabella. They recently had a baby girl, Lily.”

Rowan’s gaze shifted to the couple, pausing slightly as he took in Isabella’s studying expression. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“They have also honored me by asking me to be Lily’s godmother,” Selina added.

Rowan glanced at her briefly, “Ah. That is indeed an honor. Thank you, both.”

“No need for gratitude. Selina was the natural choice,” Isabella offered.

Rowan’s brows furrowed for a moment, but he quickly gave Isabella a tight, polite smile. Then, he pulled out the empty chair beside Selina and sat, folding smoothly into the circle of company, his presence quiet but undeniable.

He surveyed the table with a cool, composed nod. “Forgive the interruption. I hope you’ve all found the meal to your satisfaction.”

David recovered first. “Your cook is a marvel, Your Grace. We were just lamenting the absence of your company—though Viscount Penderwick here did his best to keep the table entertained.”

Penderwick, to his credit, gave a half-smile and raised his glass. “Hard to compete with celestial metaphors and shipping manifests, but I do try.”

A beat of silence passed. Rowan’s mouth curved faintly. Not quite a smile—but something close. “I heard mention of Miss Thornton earlier. I assume the viscount has continued his campaign of poetic confusion?”

That earned a ripple of laughter.

“I’ve, erm, been advised to abandon metaphors entirely,” Penderwick said. “The gentlemen have urged me to stick to simple truths and a straight posture.”

“A sound strategy,” Rowan murmured, lifting his glass in a faint toast. “Though I’d suggest sincerity over posture.”

Selina blinked. Not just participation—but a contribution. Thoughtful, even. Unexpected.

Georgiana leaned forward, delighted. “And what was your strategy, Your Grace? In courting Her Grace, I mean.”

Rowan’s hand paused on the stem of his glass. The room hushed almost imperceptibly. Selina went still.

He looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

“There wasn’t much courting involved,” he said finally. “We were matched by correspondence. I assume you already knew that.”

Georgiana nodded, “Indeed, but I would like to know your experience of it.”

“It was a practical arrangement between practical people,” Rowan responded simply, and a part within Selina withered.

Georgiana arched a brow. “Still, something must have prompted you to agree.”

A long pause.

Rowan’s voice was low. “She made an impression. Even on the page, she was direct. Clear-eyed. Sharp enough to cut through the usual nonsense.”

Selina’s breath caught. It wasn’t praise exactly. But it wasn’t nothing.

“Yet you did not show up to the wedding,” Isabella said, the anger evident in her eyes.

“Isabella—” Selina began, for the dinner table wasn’t the time or the place to discuss that, but Rowan put his hand up.

“No, it’s all right,” he told Selina gently, then turned to Isabella, “What I did was terrible, yes, and I deserve to be accountable for it.”

Selina glanced at him sharply, but he didn’t look away.

“I offer no justification,” he continued. “Only my regret. And my intention to make amends, as best I can.”

Her throat tightened. The words weren’t dramatic, but they landed with weight.

“I may not be the husband your friend imagined,” Rowan addressed Georgiana, but was looking directly at Selina now. “But I swear to keep her safe. To give her comfort. A good life. If not happiness, then… something near to it.”

His voice was quiet. Measured. Almost too careful, as if he were holding something back.

Selina’s hands had gone still in her lap. A dozen questions burned in her chest—but she said nothing.

“Well,” David said, breaking the tension with a cheerful clap, “if anyone else would like to confess a grievous wrong and pledge lifelong devotion, the floor is open.”

Laughter resumed, gentler this time. The moment passed—but was not forgotten.

Selina picked up her spoon, heart unsteady. She didn’t know what Rowan’s silence still concealed.

But from the words he’d spoken, she felt less like a burden to him.